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Moss Kesher/Lore
Moss Kesher, born Simon Cheshire, is a human brawler, player character, and former royal palace guard in a Craftsmen and Chimeras campaign. Simon Cheshire was a son of a tradesman and a brother to three siblings in Plessith before its sacking. Early life Birth and childhood Simon's parents were brought into Plessith by nobility in his mother's family; the boy's father would have never been able to afford the astronomical costs for refugee entry otherwise. Simon was born into a modest household held afloat by, again, his mother's ties to nobility - her husband, working as a papermaker in the urban Plessith, could fit his monthly wage in the palm of his hand. In his early years, Simon picked up the ins and outs of his father's trade, planning to pick up the craft and make it his own. Simon, however, regardless of his papermaking ability, was prone to sudden flare-ups of violent behavior - it took little to wear his patience as thin as the paper his father taught him to create. Adolescence Fifteen years after Simon's birth, his mother fell to a disease common at the time - her untimely death shattered the family, leading each member in seemingly completely different directions. While skilled in papermaking, Simon was not able to provide for his family with the wages the craft brought - not even when combined with his father's income. Simon and his father saw no other option - they joined the city's military and began their drills. Although Simon's father saw his son for a short period every night in the barracks, his influence on the boy dwindled and withered over the years they spent in the regiment. Simon invested countless hours training himself and his body to meet and exceed the standards of the Plessith military. Although his issues with temper exuded in some way in all that he did, Simon excelled in the military, soon being assigned to a senior position in the city guard. His father was less successful, and was placed into a regiment that was relocated to a nearby city - Tilmouth - from which it never returned. Adulthood Simon lived out his best years protecting his home city as an elite guardsman. He was lavished with praise and awards; the years did nothing to erode his achievements. On the contrary, the amount of praise he received grew with time; however, his disgruntlement with the bureaucracy and corruption within the nobility and government of the city seemed to sprout and flourish under the shower of praise he received. Simon's career future was decided by his invitation to a royal banquet in Bether. He was to be part of both a jousting tournament and a hand to hand combat tournament - a rare and admirable feat. He placed respectably in the jousting tournament, but during the combat tournament, a group of bandits from the Windswept Plains arrived. They slaughtered most of the royal observers, sacking their corpses for jewelry and other valuables. Simon acted quickly, donning his armor and making his way to the royalty of Plessith. However, his intentions were not to protect them - he intended to murder them and desert. However, a slew of bandits soon distracted him from his malevolent goals and nearly took an ear from him. Simon ended most of the bandits' careers in front of his royal family, making himself known among them as a vicious and loyal fighter. Once the dust kicked up by the raid settled, Simon was recognized as a hero and was rewarded handsomely upon his return to Plessith. His resentment toward himself and the nobility only grew with the failure of his assassination of the royal family and the humiliating rewards he received for his actions. Simon was placed into a small elite group of guards assigned exclusively to the royal family's palace. It was there that he dropped his name unofficially and began to spend his days in complete silence, always in one of three modes - sleeping, training, or on guard. This monotonous cycle whittled away at his character for Thirty years. His identity as an individual drifted away from him - he began to refer to himself as his assigned letter - delta - rather than by his given name. Sacking of Plessith Delta's - Simon's - career was abruptly ended the day of Tilmouth's assault on Plessith. Thirty years after Delta's initial vows of the elite guard, Tilmouth invaded Plessith. The city was nearly leveled; most homes and buildings were left as smouldering piles of soot. It was then that Delta realized he could be born again; he could be revitalized, resurrected. In the great bonfire outside of the palace walls, hundreds perished, losing all of their loved ones and possessions in one terrific night. A stark contrast with the massacre outside, the inner sanctum of the palace was pervaded by an uncomfortable silence and placidity. The elite guard formed a defensive platoon in the outer sanctum, fending off the forces of the invaders. A select few senior guards were left inside the palace to defend the family during their feast - after all, it was the baroness's birthday. Delta, in his trivial conversations with his fellow seniority in the guard quarters, felt a growing knot in his stomach. This knot tightened, tightening until it nearly caused him pain. At the striking of midnight, he realized the grand opportunity laid out for him: the family were sitting ducks. The guard, now unfettered by the niceties forced upon him by his obligations, killed the guards in the inner sanctum of the palace - he didn't want to meet resistance on his way to the family's dining hall. After his quick battle against his comrades of upwards of 15 years, he removed his armor and donned simple clothes from the quarters of the gentry. He picked up his now-bloodied sword, and made his way to the feast. Upon his entry, he was greeting with bemusement and false shock. This reaction was soon followed by horror and true shock. He didn't remember his name, but he remembered who he was. He kicked open the front doors to the inner sanctum, ran to the outdoor outer sanctum, screaming to the guards to abandon their position and to help the royal family. They met him with eagerness to serve and readiness to fight, and all but one left their post to rush to the dining hall. Short work was made of the one remaining guard. Delta looked over the field of bodies of Tilmouth's finest soldiers lying in the outer sanctum. He rummaged through their pockets, their coats, anything he could find to hint at personalities beneath the armor. It wasn't until he reached the gate to the city that he found a familiar, albeit withered and aged face among the corpses - Delta had found his father. He dug through his pockets, and found a letter. However, he realized that his fellow guards were probably wising up to his game at this point, and he deserted the town. This letter was smudged and burned from the battles at Plessith, but most of it was legible. However, this guard was rusty in his reading ability - it'd been decades since he last read a word, let alone a personal letter. This letter was addressed to a name Delta could hardly recognize. Mixing up several vowels and consonants, he read it aloud - "Moss Kesher". He wasn't sure it was correct, but that was all he had to go by. Delta again had a name: Moss. Later life Moss spent many years living in solitude, continuing his physical training but spending more time thinking and practicing his reading and writing. The letter from his father had long since been used as kindling in a fire on some desperate night. He spent much of his time meditating; he practiced his abilities in hand to hand combat and traveled far across Panoulis. Most of his income came from street performing and tournaments of combat. He eventually settled in a shack near the Temple of Konyus. Personality Moss was humbled by his years of service, to say the least. Boasting and social conflict are as far from important as possible in Moss's eyes. He's met many from wildly varying walks of life, growing a sense of humor and admiration for the world since his departure from service to royalty. He still owns the one constant throughout his entire life - his sense of justice. While sometimes misled, his sense of justice bites like a rabid bulldog and does not let go.